I wanted to bury my face into his neck.
Sink my fingers into that hair.
I wanted to hold on to him and never, ever let go.
Instead, I squeezed the stupid phone tighter.
Trouper finally came to a stop at the entranceway, and his face tilted back. He cracked his neck, and then turned to look into the room at the visitor area.
He stiffened immediately.
He turned to go, but the officer at his back stopped his progress.
The warden at his front, who had his arms crossed over his massive chest, started talking to him in low tones.
Then the warden gestured for him to go inside.
Trouper did, looking pissed as hell.
He tried to take a step back, but again, an officer was there.
“No,” the officer said as he stepped in front of Troup. “Don’t be a little bitch. Go talk to her.”
My lips formed into a smile, even though I was crying.
Trouper’s head hung, and he woodenly turned.
His face lifted, and for the first time in weeks, our eyes met.
His shoulders drooped even more upon seeing my face—likely the tears coursing down my cheeks—and he moved.
He had the phone picked up in a matter of moments, and he was talking to me.
“Don’t cry, Beck,” he whispered. “God, this is why I didn’t want you to come.”
I wiped the tears away. “I’m not crying because I’m seeing you like this, moron. I’m crying because I missed the hell out of you.”
He groaned and sat down, his eyes taking me in with a practiced ease that spoke of familiarity.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
His eyes rolled down to the papers that were in shreds in front of him, and for the barest of seconds, his lips tipped up at the corners in amusement.
It was gone just as fast, but I knew that seeing those papers torn to shreds had made him happy.
“I’m not going to allow you to divorce me,” I told him bluntly. “I’m in this for the next fifteen years. Then, when you get back out, we’ll renew our vows and keep on living. I’ve waited eight years for you, I’ll wait forever.”
Trouper’s eyes met mine.
“This place is suffocating me,” he whispered. “I don’t want you here witnessing that.”
“I don’t care what you want. Not when it comes to this,” I told him. “You can tell me that you like my hair long, and not to cut it, and I’ll listen. You can tell me that you don’t want me living in the south part of town, and I’ll find a new place. You can tell me that you don’t want me butting into your case some more, and I probably won’t listen, but at least I’ll get anxiety when I do poke into it. But I won’t do this. Not leave you behind.”
His eyes narrowed.
“What do you mean you’re looking into my case?” he asked.
I narrowed my eyes.
“You were wrongfully sent to prison, Trouper,” I said. “That warrants me looking into your case.”
His eyes looked terrified for a second.
“Don’t, baby,” he whispered. “Don’t do that.”
I knew why he didn’t want me to.
Because the last time I’d poked my nose into this case, I’d nearly died. He’d gone to prison.
His long-time friend had nearly lost his life at his hands.
He’d been dishonorably discharged. He’d lost other friends.
He’d lost his career.
But ultimately, he’d nearly lost me. And that he couldn’t tolerate.
Sadly, he didn’t have a choice.
Why didn’t he have a choice? Because he’d been utterly shafted.
His lawyer had been shit.
He couldn’t afford more.
And the prosecution had been well and truly set up with all kinds of ammunition that would make Trouper look bad.
Oh, and the FBI, having wanted to continue to pursue the case, hadn’t stepped in and protected him. Me? Yes. Trouper? No.
And now I was going to battle, preparing for war.
I also didn’t care what Trouper thought.
This was getting fixed, and this was getting wiped from his record. I was going to get his career back.
I just had to make a few inquiries, club a few heads, and meet a few contacts.
Oh, and take down a sex trafficking ring.
I just had to bring a few key players into the mix first.
Just as I was about to continue with what I’d come here to say, an alarm started to blare.
Surprised, I looked up at the flashing red light above my head and frowned.
“Motherfucker.” Trouper growled. “Baby, get out. Now.”
“Sorry, darlin’,” I heard the officer say behind me. “It’s time for you to go. That’s the riot alarm.”
My heart jumped in my throat at the idea that there was a riot going on in the prison that my husband was going to be locked in.
“What?” I shook my head. “No!”
But before I could answer, Trouper was already standing up.
“Don’t come back to this place, Beck,” Trouper whispered before hanging up the phone.
Before I could slam my hand on the glass, to get him to listen to reason, he stood up, turned around, and walked away.
His orange-jump-suited ass was the only thing I could focus on until he was completely out of the room.
I narrowed my eyes just before hanging up the phone.
Game on, Trouper Aoki. Game. Fucking. On.
The warden looked at me through the glass, and I saw the promise there.
He would call me to let me know everything was okay.
I drew in a deep breath and let it out, then allowed the guard to not only lead me out of the room, but out to my car.
He looked at me when men started to shout on the other side of the tall as fuck chain-link fence wrapped in razor wire.
“He’ll come around,” the man said. “Just give him time.”
And for some reason, I believed him.
“Thank you,” I said softly.
He winked, then was gone, jogging back to the front doors where he pulled out a set of keys.
I got to my—Trouper’s—car and dropped inside, staring blankly at the prison for a few long moments.
Then I reached for my phone.
When I touched the screen, it lit up with a text, four missed calls, and a voicemail
The voicemail was from my brother.
Two calls were from my mom, one from my dad, and one from my brother.
I sighed and called my brother back first.
“Where the fuck are you?” he asked. “Your shit is gone.”
I’d been staying with my brother, who’d obviously noticed that I was gone after getting home from work.
He was an officer at the Kilgore Police Department just like my dad was.
He was also exceptionally unobservant because I’d been gone since yesterday.
“I’m in Montana,” I said.
He hissed in a breath.
He knew why I was in Montana.
There was only one reason for me to be in Montana.
“Why?” he asked.
“Because he’s my husband,” I told him. “And I love him.”
“Beckham,” Louis groaned. “Why are you doing this to me?”
I stiffened my spine. “Why am I doing this to you? Louis, I’m not doing shit to you. I’m trying to be something in life.”